


N015: My Best Friend's Girl

by Rhion



Series: Little Caspian [4]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had made off with his best friend, what was he to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me no own, you no sue.
> 
> Written in 09 on WordPad
> 
> Incomplete, was originally going to be a three part story, however, chapter one can stand on its own.

Tugging his covers up to his chin, Caspian stared at the canopy of his bed. Huffing as he kicked his foot under the sheets, then he grasped some of the material between his big toe and his smaller toes, rubbing it as he lay there. Just staring up at the heavy green-black velvet canopy. With a growl Caspian rolled over, uncomfortable, trying once more to get situated. He couldn't. Something just didn't feel right. Not right at all. Hugging his pillow, then beating it with his fist to fluff it, Caspian pressed his face into the thick downy pillow making a muffled sound of irritation.

Was he too hot? Well that was a possibility, the hearth was putting off a good deal of heat and his window wasn't open, and he was still clothed in his night-things. Thinking that perhaps that may be the issue, Caspian struggled to disentangle himself from his covers, his exceedingly loose tunic and leggings catching, wrapped in the covers forcing him to squirm like he was dancing a jig. Cursing irritably Caspian wished for the simpler times of childhood when if he'd been too hot he'd just strip naked and sleep atop his blankets, the protection of large fluffy pillows and Bear more than enough to keep his little self from catching cold. Now as an adult he had to be 'proper' and with the presence of the Kings and Queens of Old watching each of his moves, Caspian felt that he had no recourse but to be 'proper' at all times. Gone were the times when a maid would blush and move about in a flurry if she came in on him as he was in the all-together, because what sort of proper gentleman would he be if he was attired in such a fashion? Or un-attaired to be exact.

Well he was certain that then he'd be declared unseemly and thus unfit, and have to sit through one of High King Peter's lectures on propriety. Frankly, he'd rather not have to deal with that at all. So, he wore a pair of tattered leggings and loose tunic to bed, and did his best to sleep like a normal and proper king. Going to his window he flung the panes wide, and sucked in a great lungful of the heavy moist night air. There was at least a sparse breeze and with mischievous fingers it twisted into his room, playing gently with the hem of his shirt. It was as though the wind was telling him to just throw damnable propriety out the window and go ahead and make himself comfortable. But what would Queen Susan say if she ever found out his predilection? That stopped him in his tracks and he pondered that for a few moments.

He'd been losing sleep for days now, constantly uncomfortable in his own bed, in his own room, feeling as though something was missing while something else was weighing him down. That was it! Bear, he was missing Bear. Well of course he was missing Bear, Bear was his friend and constant companion throughout most of his life. But the Gentle Queen had run off with his best friend, leaving Caspian no comfort in the blastedly hot evenings, and no one to console him while urging him to maintain social decorum.

Queen Susan had seen him speaking with Bear though, and she probably thought him quite mad. And so he had been fighting all his regular urges of late, ever since the Kings and Queens had appeared. He'd curbed his need for solitude, forcing himself to be sociable at all times, he'd done his best to be dressed as was expected of him, and now he'd even stopped speaking to himself. Correcting himself in his mind, speaking with Bear that is, if one were to talk to oneself that usually implied insanity. And insanity wasn't proper at all. This being proper thing was mindbogglingly difficult, and Caspian prided himself on his intelligence and fortitude as a general rule of thumb, but at the moment all Caspian wanted was to throw it all to the wind.

As though to mock him further, or tempt him depending on his point of view at the moment, the breeze became a short gust, tousling his already tousled being. Wrinkling his nose, Caspian truly wished he had Bear to speak with. At least _he_ would care about Caspian's discomfort. Even if he was nothing more than a worn out collection of stuffing and fuzzy cloth. The Kings and Queens seemed utterly at home with all that propriety, all the trappings of rulership. Caspian, while more than happy to work hard and well educated in the leading of others, was also aware that he was _human_. And that as any normal, sane, rational human, he had a certain amount of silliness to his personality. In all truth he had a personality. High King Peter, as wise and experienced as he was, was… well… _stuffy_. Utterly lacking in the personality department, reminding Caspian more of some crotchety herald weighing everything down with rules, regulations, and more rules.

Edmund, now that was a man he could identify with. The snarkiness, the humour, the _superiority_ complex… Grinning out into the night, Caspian leaned on his windowsill letting the night air ease his fevered skin. Crossing his arms, Caspian refrained from thinking aloud, but it was a near thing. To make things easier he moved his lips in time to his thoughts but let no sound pass. King Edmund the Just. More like King Edmund the Face-Rearrange-er. Unable to stop a giggle from leaking out, Caspian did his best to keep it quiet. There was no need to alert any of the Talking Beasts who patrolled the night of their King's proclivities. Or quite possibly, as he pressed his hand over his mouth to quiet himself, King Edmund the Arsekicker.

Whispering, "Most certainly not the sort of fellow I would want to meet in a dark ally."

Realizing what he had done, talk to himself that is, Caspian stomped his foot in irritation. And stubbed his toe in the doing. Hopping back with a foul curse that he'd picked up from Glozelle, Caspian hoisted his foot up, holding it as he jiggled up and down, swearing up a quiet storm, calling on all Telmarine, Narnian – courtesy of Trumpkin and Nikabrik – and a few from Edmund that were in something called 'English' - resources. Done venting on nothing in particular, mostly his discomfort, the night, propriety, and the lack of Bear, Caspian moodily went back to bed hoping to get some sleep. Finally.

XXX

"Are you not hungry Caspian?" startled by Lucy's voice, Caspian jerked in his chair, looking about wildly having nodded off into a light doze.

"Of course he's not hungry Luce," it came out as a peevish growl, "this is the fourth day he's been late for breakfast. You'd think he didn't want to come and see us. Talk about impropriety…" Jabbing the air in Caspian's direction, "Or is it you just don't like breakfast?"

"Really now Caspian, aren't you hungry?" Lucy leaned towards him, looking worried.

Attempting to gather his wits, Caspian nodded, "Most certainly, I am quite hungry and breakfast looks quite…" he looked down and trailed off.

Lucy leaned over in her chair and poked his side, "You're too skinny, you need to eat more! Eat your eggs - I worked very hard on them."

Smiling weakly at the small Queen, dutifully Caspian picked up his fork and moved the gelatinous yellow mass around on his plate, "I did not know I was lacking my dear little Queen."

She gave him a look, her russet brows arching high on her forehead, "Oh don't be silly! You just need to eat more. Like Pete does."

"What's that supposed to mean?" it came out somewhere between amused and aggravated.  
On the other end of the small table Peter had been packing the eggs, bread with preserves, and sausages away like he hadn't eaten in years. Trying to hide his wince, Caspian remembered when he had first started to grow into his body, and it had demanded a truly rude amount of food to keep it fueled. He had always been half-starved, never satisfied. Now, while he thought of himself as a healthy eater, Caspian didn't feel the need for five or six helpings of food the way King Peter still did.

Attempting to be diplomatic, and proper of course, "My appetite has never been so healthy Queen Lucy, His Majesty's gastronomic powers are truly awe inspiring, but I fear I shall never quite be on that level. Not any longer, but when I was his age – "

"My age? Caspian," it was level, and the High King gesticulated with a large round dark loaf that he'd coated in butter and preserves, "I'm near twice your age."

"To be true in the chronological fashion, and I bow to your greater wisdom and experience, but Your Majesty, your body is…." Trying to put it delicately, "still not quite finished developing. You are physically in your…. What? Fifteenth year?"

Blue eyes widened, and Caspian realized he may have miscalculated, but the High King looked quite young to him visually, "Eighteen. I'm eighteen. The same age as you."

He felt that it would be vastly too impolite to point out that eighteen was still younger than himself, Caspian hesitated, holding his fork up to hold his thought as it were.

"Boys," Lucy snorted, grabbing their attention, and rescuing Caspian from the High King, "behave. Peter, you know that last time in Narnia you ate like a pig until you were twenty-four. And that you wound up aging totally differently too. You looked older by the time you were seventeen when you were here than you did back in England. Caspian," a playful swat, "you don't pay him any mind, and eat up."

Both Kings chastened, they went back to their meals. Caspian doing his best to make happy faces as the food hit his tongue. Truly he would much rather just eat some bread with butter and honey, perhaps a hardboiled egg to top it off. But, he wouldn't dare to hurt the young girl's feelings, thankful for her sweet disposition and kindness. He'd never had anyone make him breakfast just because they wanted to before, so he'd do his best to relish it. Even if it did give him indigestion.

Perhaps later he could see if she'd like to play a game of hide-and-seek, much like how he had played with Queen Lucy as a child. But this time he'd have the real person there to entertain and be entertained by. Grown he may be, but he saw nothing wrong with a bit of childish play. And it would please the tiny Queen, which would in turn bring smiles to all who saw her – a bit of indigestion, indignity and being winded were very small prices to pay to Caspian's way of thinking. He just hoped he didn't run into Peter – there was no way the High King was going to swing Caspian in the air like a little boy, and giving the King a glance, Caspian realized he thought that that bit of his earlier years was best left alone.

Otherwise he'd never live it down.

But maybe it would be worth mentioning it, just for the look of peeved horror on King Peter's face…. Caspian would have to keep that in mind… Especially when the King realized that that meant Caspian had viewed him as a father figure, and that now the King was acting like one. With a very rebellious son. And Caspian was just perverse enough to gain a great deal of pleasure from that idea, and tucked into his breakfast not even tasting the excess lard that had been used to make the meal, so distracted was he by his happy thoughts.

XXX

"King Edmund," hailing the dark haired youthful King.

Edmund perked up, looking over the racks of armor, having to stand on his toes as physically he wasn't a full adult. But Caspian couldn't see the King for anything but the man he was, a like-minded equal.

The rapidly becoming shaggy dark mop of hair stuck up at odd angles as he cocked his head, pursing his lips in query, "Brother, you know I prefer a simple 'Edmund' or 'Ed'. But, what can I do for you anyway?"

Shrugging as he moved to join him, "I am told a proper king is supposed to stand on protocol at all times, even with his friends."

"Bullocks," snorting, "You've been listening to Pete too much. He's gotten self-important since coming back. Not that I don't understand it."

"And why would that be?" curious, as he usually was about all things, as to why the High King would act like that.

Rolling his eyes, Edmund selected a halberd from the rack, testing its weight in his hands, "In England, things… were different. We're children there Caspian, we have no standing or importance."

Understanding dawned, "To go from such a high status, having so much responsibility to having… nothing. And to be so… discounted." Shaking his head, "It must have been painful."

"If that were all," frowning down at the black haft of the weapon, rolling it between his hands, "then things would be simple."

Blinking, Caspian tried to figure out Edmund's meaning. Conceding his defeat, "Please, elaborate."

"Caspian, as great as it is to be back, we may not be staying," grip going white-knuckled, "the last time we were here for many years. Enough to create a golden era, though it didn't feel all that golden while we were doing it. Was a right pain in the arse. But we still left, Caspian. And when we went back… we were children again."

Reeling back as though from a heavy handed blow, Caspian reached out, snagging the rack for support, "Surely you will not be leaving? Surely Aslan will not…" the words burnt his throat, "will not send you away?"

Feeling the blood drain from his face, Caspian saw the room spin, and only realized once he was flat on his back that he'd gone into some form of a faint. He couldn't conceive of the Kings and Queens leaving. Of leaving him all by himself to rule, he needed them. Needed his family. The ceiling was in need of a cleaning, he thought distantly, and the sound of rushing was in his ears. 

It was painful.

"Caspian?" Edmund came into his line of sight, cutting off the sooty rafters. "Caspian, come on, get up, I know you can hear me."

"You cannot be sent away, I will not allow it," and it came out as a scared little whisper.

Scuffing of boot and clothes on wood flooring as Edmund sat beside him, "Aslan is the one who decides if we stay or go Caspian. He is the true ruler of Narnia, we only function as His Voice amongst the people. We're here on His sufferance you know."

None of Edmund's words comforted Caspian. But they made sense, and he knew them to be true. He just didn't want anyone to have that power over him ever again. The power to take those people that he cared for away. Shaking off the odd dizziness that had come over him, Caspian sat up, not looking at Edmund, but at his hands where they rested in his lap. Callus and scar tissue was heavy on his hands, but nothing that hindered his range of motion, all of it from long years of learning the sword. Some of it came from learning to play the lap harp from Lady Prunaprismia, the thickest callous on his fingertips built up from plucking and strumming the strings. Studying the lines on his palm Caspian heaved another great sigh, feeling utterly powerless.

It was as though he were a small child all over again. And it compounded his fears, and his knowledge of how horrible it was to be sent away. Newfound sympathy rose up in Caspian for High King Peter, it was his fear too to be forced to leave that which was his home. The place in which he belonged. To be torn from that, that was a hell unlike any other, and Caspian knew very well how bad that could be. But, how could Aslan do that to them? Didn't the Kings and Queens truly belong here? With him?

Edmund reached out, laying his hand on Caspian's shoulder, "Caspian, don't worry, He loves us. In the end, He'll be there for us, be there for you. But sometimes you have to ask for His help, instead of just blindly expecting it."

"Like King Peter did?"

"Yeah, like Pete," nodding. "And sometimes," a cynical little twist to his lips, "you just have to show Him that you're ready for something."

Brows bouncing on his forehead, "Sometimes Edmund, you are a bit difficult to understand."

To that Edmund grinned, patting his shoulder a few times before rising, "Well then, you just think about that until it's all sorted."

Listening as Edmund left, Caspian had long since forgotten why he had sought out the Just King. Staying where he was seated, Caspian drummed his fingers on his knee, chewing his lip, deep in thought. Now he could very much use someone to talk to, someone who would listen and wouldn't instill such horrible fears in his breast. Truly, Edmund was only trying to prepare him, Caspian understood that. But it still hurt and was a terrible thing. Clambering to his feet, his kneecap popping as he got up too fast making him cringe at the loud sound, he was still recovering from the battle of a month ago it seemed. Not only that but his ribs were still tender, and when it had rained a week ago, body parts had ached that had never ached before.

"This war thing was not a very good idea I think," muttering as he straightened his back, pushing his palm into his spine hoping it would stop making him feel like a steel bar was pinned to it.

The hair on the back of his neck rose, and Caspian ducked to the side at the last moment as a crossbow bolt snapped through the air. Rolling up quickly, sword drawn with the motion, Caspian was dodging side to side in a dive towards his assailant. But he stopped as soon as he registered who it was. Glozelle stood there, crossbow held in a relaxed grip smirking.

Smirking of all things!

Snarling, "What is the meaning of this Glozelle?"

"Seeing if my best student was truly so foolish as he appeared, presenting such a splendid target for an assassin," his beard splitting into a larger grin.

Letting the point of his sword dip to the floor, Caspian watched Glozelle warily, "I was not aware I was still your student Glozelle. And I did not think that there were any assassins left of any note other than yourself."  
To that Glozelle snorted, "Do not discount your abilities."

"I rarely do," evenly. "Now, explain this disruption to my thoughts Glozelle and I might ignore such an attack on my person."

Glozelle shrugged, laying the crossbows' body over his shoulder so that there was little threat from it, "You should check to see where the quarrel went. But, then again that would mean you would have to take your eyes off of me," not answering his question at all.

Caspian turned partially, while taking a few steps forward – close enough that he could lunge and strike Glozelle, but far enough that Glozelle would have a problem returning the favor with his much shorter stature, "That is an interesting spot to use as a target," glancing to where the head was buried in a rack.

"I thought so too," chuckling.

The deadly bolt had been shot a good distance away from Caspian. It was clear that he had never been a target at all. Glozelle was up to his old tutoring games it seemed, testing him constantly, reminding him to stay on his toes. Such familiarity was welcome, missed and far from being a good idea. After all, Glozelle had sided with Miraz. Caspian tried to hide the wince at the name, he hadn't let himself think about his uncle at all since his… death.

Jingling of hauberk, signaling Glozelle's movements, and Caspian's gaze snapped up, pinning him once more, "Answer my question Glozelle – what is the meaning of this?"

"You already figured it out boy," grunting as he went to a rack, putting the weapon down. "And I already told you, to ensure that my best student is wary enough to rule. You must stay on your toes at all times. There is no time when someone will not come for you, could not come for you." Pausing he thought for a moment, "Unless you are glued to that massive lions' side, then nothing is sacred when it comes to death dealing."

That hurt, and it was the second time in not as many hours that such a pain had hit him. Glozelle truly had stopped being his friend and tutor. What he was doing was a last act, a last reminder to Caspian that there were always going to be enemies that sought to control him or kill him for his power. But he wasn't powerful. He wasn't in some enviable position, if only others would understand that. Power over many left it so he was powerless over himself, powerless to prevent others from leaving him, from being sent away.

Glozelle brought him back to the here and now, "Yet again your mind has wandered Caspian."  
Muscle ticking in his jaw, "I have much to think on."

"Do not let your natural inclinations weigh you down with too many weighty thoughts," leaning on the wall with one shoulder, legs crossed at the ankle as he hooked his thumbs in his swordbelt. "You will do yourself no good at all if you let that happen. And while you are a king, you must also look after yourself, or you will be unable to look after your people."

Frowning, Caspian resheathed his sword, still suspicious from years of ingrained training finally becoming active, "That is my concern."

"Oh? Really?" glancing around as though in surprise, "Here I thought I was your tutor and mentor, a person to which you mean a great deal and I bear much concern for. But," raising a brow, "I might be wrong in that assumption. Am I?" Sighing, "Then I am to be exiled I take it. I understand, as King you cannot allow any who did not support you in the war near you." Straightening up, Glozelle bowed deeply, "My King, if you would excuse me, I must then see to some affairs if I am to leave."

Growling, "Glozelle! Stop this foolishness at once!"

"What foolishness would that be Sire?" curiously Glozelle watched him, seemingly confused by Caspian's irritation. "You do not wish the counsel of your one time tutor, as he has betrayed your personal trust. And that I can understand. But I could not betray my word. It was my bond, and I gave it to your father, then to Miraz when he became your guardian."

"Why did you not defend me?" unable to stop the question, "Why did you not protect your protégé?"

Muscles twitched in Glozelle's face, and he couldn't maintain eye contact, shame making him slump, "Because I had not, could not, was not free to give you my word. My honour is the only thing I have in the end Caspian. It is a cold mistress, and leaves me few choices when it comes down to it. I worked around it how I could. I gave – no. I will not speak of it," waving a hand and turning away from Caspian. "Please, if you bear me any care you will let me go into exile as you cannot afford to trust me. It would set a bad example for others. For those in the Council they will watch you, looking for any opening, any weakness."

Now Caspian did approach, grabbing hold of Glozelle's arm in a crushing grip, forcing him to stay in place, "And I will need those I can trust by my side. There are few that have that." It seemed as though Glozelle would say something more, something to justify his actions other than his word. There was something else, as though betraying Caspian wasn't the only shame he bore. But Caspian dismissed it, Glozelle would tell him if he were ready to. So instead Caspian fought to use logic to keep his mentor with him, even if Caspian could well understand the older man's viewpoint, "I would have you pledge me your life, and then to my children. My sons would learn the sword from the man who taught me, they would learn honour at not just my knee, but yours. There are so few I would allow such a thing, so few I would know would do justice to the task."

"Sire," he swallowed once, some odd light making his Telmarine black eyes shine like obsidian before he scrunched them closed, turning his face aside once more, "you do me great good."

Shaking Glozelle's arm once, firmly, "Glozelle, pledge me your life. Give me your word. Swear that the Throne and the good of all the peoples is what you live for."

To that Glozelle made a pained sound, then pulled his arm from Caspian's grip, "That I cannot do Sire. I can pledge my life to you, but I cannot pledge it to anything else. There is no room for such things. I have not enough energy in this weary body to uphold so many promises. I am truly sorry."

For a moment Caspian stayed still, not wanting to hear, not wanting to understand. His teacher was tired. He'd lived through enough years to see four kings. Caspian's grandfather, his father, his uncle, and now himself. Realizing that it would break Glozelle to see an end to his reign, Caspian sighed, finally having put the clues together. Moving even closer, Caspian wrapped Glozelle into a tight hug, squeezing him hard and not letting go. This man had been his father, his mentor, in ways that Miraz couldn't have let himself be and Cornelius would never have understood. Oiled chain and leather filled Caspian's nose, a thick scent that hit the back of his mouth and was so strong and familiar he could taste it. Hay was a sweet undertone, and the oils that Glozelle used to keep his beard neat. Hesitant arms came around Caspian's back then moved with more surety, squeezing in return.

They stood there for long minutes, how long Caspian didn't know, and he didn't care. All he could hear was the ragged breathing in his ear, and from his own sore throat. He didn't like how his emotions were going up and down, and his head was filled with so many words that just wanted to explode outwards. And he couldn't say any of them, he didn't even know where his mouth and mind would take him if he were to let anything leak out. But he hung on, and only noticed after quite some time that Glozelle was rocking him side to side where they stood, and that tears were spilling from his hot eyes. He didn't want Glozelle to feel tired, he didn't want Glozelle to leave, to be sent away – not by the Council, and not by his own will, let alone Caspian's. It spoke of the sort of man Caspian was that he made himself accept it, and gather his courage to let go, of the sort of man he'd been raised to become. The sort of man that Glozelle had helped him grow into.

Forcing his arms to relax, Caspian started to straighten up, to step back. Glozelle's hold tightened, making his ribs hurt, but Caspian paid no heed to it. He was just thankful that Glozelle didn't want to be too old, too tired, too careworn to stand at his side. And so he hugged Glozelle tighter, and tried to store it all up. After this, Caspian didn't know what Glozelle would do – he may leave, he may stay, but he'd never be General Glozelle again. Except in Caspian's mind.

XXX

Singing carried down the hallway as Caspian walked along. Yet another poor sleepless night had assaulted Caspian, and he was beyond tired. And he was lonely, needing someone to unload on, to see if he could get all his thoughts in order. So his unconscious mind followed the singing as he meandered aimlessly. Surely he had some state business to attend to, but for once most things seemed to be taking care of themselves without him, or one of the other monarchs was overseeing it. The melody was familiar, but the voice was of a different timbre and pitch, and Caspian tried to recall where he'd heard such singing before. Everything was distant, the foggy fatigue and stress weighing on him, yet onwards his feet led him.

The heavy stone walls that made up the castle seemed particularly oppressive today, the gray-black closing in on Caspian, and his maudlin thoughts fit well with the atmosphere. Yet the bright happy sound had a source, and Caspian was drawn like a moth to the flame, and when he came into his lady aunt's solar, he found its origin. It was with some surprise, but really he shouldn't have been at all, to see her rocking his small cousin in her arms as she sang before the open window. Her thick dark hair was rolled into heavy coils that rested atop her head and the look of serene peace on her still lovely face made the aching fatigue in his bones ease. Blinking as he stood in the doorway to her solar, his hand on the frame as he watched Prunaprismia step side to side, Caspian found the laconic scene unknotting the worst of his headache.

Caspian hesitated, should he enter in on this private moment between mother and child, or should he leave? His decision was taken from him as she turned, and the smile that formed on Prunaprismia's face while she continued singing was the reason for it. Motioning with her head she pulled him forward, and he didn't resist. Picking one of the wooden chairs that had been piled with cushions, Caspian moved a hoop that held stretched linen in its frame, setting the delicate embroidery aside. Slouching, Caspian folded his hands over his stomach, cocking his head so that he could continue listening and watching. As the song ended, his aunt placed Corsiken in his cradle, fussing quietly over the infant.

Once she was satisfied, Prunaprismia turned gracefully, the heavy mint silk of her dress rustling with the motion, "Caspian, my dear, how have you been? I have seen so little of you lately."

"I have been busy," moving to rise so that he could sweep into a low bow, "please forgive your nephews' lack of manners."

"Nonsense sweetling," she had come over, her hands framing his cheeks as she forced him up from his obeisance, "you are King now. You have so much to see to, so much to take care of. And you," pulling his face closer she kissed his forehead, "dear, are never lacking in any way. Let no one ever say otherwise."

His lips twitched into a vague smile, "Still, I have not taken my duties to my family very well. There are many things I have been quite remiss in." Taking hold her hands, Caspian let his bangs fall forward, covering his eyes, "I have so little kin left, I should take better care to watch for them."

Prunaprismia 'hmm'ed softly, gesturing for him to be seated once more, "You have more cousins and in-laws than a fig tree has fruit on its limbs. Soon they shall be coming out of the woodwork for you, pressing this or that case calling you 'Cousin' and 'Brother'." Bustling over to the fire, Prunaprismia swung the iron kettle out and wrapped her hand in a towel, and took it over to her teapot, "Tea?"

"I could have done that for you," but he made no motion to do so, knowing that his aunt preferred to do things for herself sometimes. But he felt it was only polite to point that out. "But yes, certainly I would love some," trying not to sound too hopeful, "Would there be a chance of any cakes or biscuits to go with that?"

A tinkling laugh that verged on a giggle, "Do you never get enough sweets into you sweetling?"  
Unable to stop the cheeky grin that pinched his face up, "Not hardly," reaching for one of the lavender and honey biscuits on the plate she set down.

Caspian quieted, munching on the subtly sweet sweetbread, waiting for the tea to finish steeping. Prunaprismia picked up her embroidery, her tapered fingers holding the silver needle with practiced skill. Light flashed off the metal now and again as it darted rapidly in and out of cloth, and Caspian felt as he had as a small child. Fragrant flowers sat in pots, growing as they would out in the garden, but held safe in heavy terracotta jars. There were no dead things in this bower, just green growing ones, some budding, some open, and many leafy herbs made for a lush setting.

Basking in the homey backdrop, Caspian checked the teapot, lifting the lid, then poured for first his aunt then himself. In reward he got a glowing smile, and Caspian wondered if perhaps there were some way to immortalize her in the histories as anything other than the wife of a usurper. Truly she should bear the title of Prunaprismia the Graceful, or maybe the Kind. Taking a sip, Caspian let himself slouch even further, his booted feet sticking out straight before him, crossed at the ankles, bad manners and boyish charm in one. He knew his aunt wouldn't mind, she never did, only that when it was required of him that he be the perfect gentleman. Otherwise he was always allowed to be who he was – a young man with no mother, thankful for any sanctuary he could receive.

When he had started to drowse, "Caspian, would you like to speak of what troubles you so much?"

Nose crinkling, Caspian decided to pour himself another cup of tea one handed and shook his head, "I would not wish to burden you. Besides, it is nothing, not really."

She didn't say anything, leaning over her work, the picture of acceptance. Twisting in his seat, Caspian made himself more comfortable, wishing in passing that he was still small enough to curl up like a puppy in the chair. Beneath Prunaprismia's hands thick strands of ivy formed, made from saffron threads on the nutmeg linen. He wondered who it was for, it was a very fine piece, the linen of a thicker variety, made for wearing under nothing more than a vest or a loose doublet. Fighting back a yawn, Caspian scanned the solar, noting that everything was in its place. The room hadn't really changed much since he was very young, more cushions had been added through the years, and the large potted plants. It had once upon a time been his mother's sanctum, but he didn't really remember what that had been like then.

"Do you know what I miss sweetling?"

"And what would that be?" cocking his head, Caspian saw that he was being scrutinized.

"Music," laying her hoop in her lap, "it has been so very long since I have heard you play."

Snorting softly, "I am not much of a musician, no matter how patient of an instructor you were, Aunt."

"Not true," arching her brow high on her forehead, "you were far better than many of the minstrels who have graced the feasthall."

Shrugging, Caspian got up, taking the hint, "That is because they sang of war. And their lutes were off key."

"And their voices had no training, it was all raw, _and_ offkey," seemingly satisfied that he was looking for his harp. "And once the polite ladies left, their songs were more than off key, they were off colour."

Choking on his laughter, trying to stay quiet so as to not wake his sleeping cousin, "Aunt!"

"Well it is true," studiously prim. "I am sure an alehouse hears cleaner material than what was sung at table some evenings."

Finally finding his harp, Caspian went back to his seat, shaking his head, "There I think I may have to disagree with you."

"Oh?" giving him a very curious look, "And how many alehouses have you visited Caspian?"

Now Caspian blushed beet red not wanting to admit how often he'd frequented such places. With Glozelle of course – who else would he have gone with? And there was no way he'd go into what went on in one of those… establishments, let alone the fact that at least one barmaid had made free with her hands upon his royal person. Or on Glozelle's not-so-royal person.

Coughing into his hand, Caspian sat quickly seeking to change the subject, "And what would you care to hear as you work?"

"Oh Caspian dear, have I embarrassed you?"

Eyes widening, "Aunt, you could never do such a thing. I have nothing to be embarrassed over…"

She sniffed once, "Then why is the tip of your nose red? It always got red when you were embarrassed when you were a little one."

Mortified Caspian's hand flew up to cover his nose as his eyes crossed attempting to check it, "It is not red!"

"And your cheeks, they do look a bit rosy, or were you playing in my rouge pots again?" bringing up one of those many abysmally awkward instances that happen in childhood. "Show me your ears, and I will wager five ducats that they are as bright as your nose. My little sweetling you are discomforted, do not continue denying it," leveling her needle at him like some absurdly small rapier. But it was just as deadly and cutting when combined with her keen observational skills. "You would not perchance have visited such places more than once, now would you?"

"Please, might we not change the subject?" crying desperately, heel of his hand pressed to his forehead.

Tisking as she shook her head, Prunaprismia let her needle dart back into linen, "As I thought. That Glozelle carting you off into so much troublesome places."

Curling over his harp, Caspian groaned, "Aunt, how in the forefathers names did we get onto this subject?"

"Well since you will not speak of what ails you," the hint of a smirk graced her face, the onyx of her eyes twinkling, "then we shall speak of your youthful exuberance."

Sighing, "Not so youthful any longer," slumping again, head tilted over the back of his chair, the very essence of abject fatigue.

Setting aside her needlepoint, Prunaprismia scooted her small footstool towards him and made herself comfortable on the low seat, "Well now," taking his chin in her hand, she turned his head this way and that, "I see few lines at the corners of your eyes."

"But you see them?" leaning closer so they were almost nose to nose.

"That I do," a fingernail traced the outside of his eyes, then at the corners of his mouth, "and I see a few here. So perhaps you truly are not so youthful. Or," she tweaked Caspian's nose, "perhaps you sleep uneasily, leaving you the signs of an on old man as the days wear on with no rest?"

"My sleep has been particularly poor," resituating the small harp once his aunt relinquished her hold on him, plucking out a spritely tune that didn't fit his mood one whit.

"And has been for some time?"

Caspian nodded, letting his fingertips rapidly over the strings, the wood of the instrument almost the same honey-gold of his skin, "Many days, yes."

Tutt-tutting Prunaprismia tipped her head back, tapping her cheek in thought, "You will not speak of those many thoughts that run deep in your mind?" Before he could answer, she shook her head, "No of course not. You rarely do speak to those who could use your words against you." Rising, she sailed around the room, one arm crossed over her chest, the other propped to the side, hand to her cheek, muttering to herself, more than loud enough to hear. "Such a guarded boy, such a sweet boy, such a honest and lonely child you were. And you still are," sighing sadly. Turning to him, skirts fluffing outwards with the motion, she stilled them one handed, "Then there is nothing for it. You should talk to the one you always spoke to when troubled or had too many thoughts flitting through your head like mad butterflies." Then she huffed, "More like wasps with their stinging to your mind, not allowing you any rest."

Straightening, Caspian continued playing, "And who would you suggest I speak with? There has never been –"

"That is untrue my little sweetling," cutting Caspian off. "When you were little, at night you would talk to Bear," stiffening, Caspian stared wide-eyed, no one knew about Bear, or well he figured no one would _remember_ Bear, "until you fell asleep. Whispering as you snuggled him close to you, all about your day, all about what you were thinking on."

"I do not know what you are talking about," fingers stilling on the strings of the harp, Caspian tamped the notes with his palm, "my dear Aunt, I should take my leave. I have things I must attend to…"

Catching sight of his aunt's face, he knew she wasn't fooled for one moment. She stood there, lips pursed, head cocked to the side, her gentle gaze measuring him. Then her words fully registered – she had listened to him talk to Bear as he fell asleep? When would that have happened? Confused and curious, Caspian kept staring at Prunaprismia debating the wisdom of actually asking when it was she could have heard such a thing. And what could have possibly made her think he still did such a… frankly childishly strange thing?

The odd tableau held with them holding the other's gaze, Caspian trying to put the puzzle pieces together, and Prunaprismia waiting patiently for him to do so. Caspian was the first to drop his eyes, glowering darkly at his black leather boots with their intricate silver tooling. At any point in his life his aunt could have heard him speak to Bear as he fell asleep – it was a regular nightly occurrence, something that eased his fractious, busy mind into some semblance of peace. But Caspian always thought he'd been far too quiet for anyone to hear him, or that he would have heard someone entering his room unbidden. Chewing his lip until it was sore, picking at the hem of his teal tunic, Caspian brooded in the ever present cacophony of his mind.

"You are doing it again," it came out as annoyed as Prunaprismia ever got, just a vague crossness.

Jerking once, "Pardon?"

"Wandering off into the gardens of your mind, listening to those stinging wasps," patting her skirt, giving him a firm look, "And if you would listen to me, you would release all that pressure in your poor head before it explodes. You must let all that out, like a teakettle with steam."  
Rubbing at his forehead, "I would if I could."

"And why in the forefather's names can you not? Is Bear too damaged? If so, I shall fix him for you," coming back to him, taking the harp from Caspian's lax grasp, "Every child should have a friend to talk to. Even if that child is all grown up into a fine man."

Not wanting to admit to Bear's existence, not quite yet, despite the fact that it was more than evident that his aunt already knew, and quite well, about Bear, he just wasn't comfortable saying anything aloud. Shifting side to side in the chair, Caspian fretted, trying to come up with some way to sidestep but could find none at all. Grumbling, "The Queen is in possession of Bear at the moment."

The arms that went about his shoulders surprised Caspian, and the kiss to his temple, "Oh, Caspian sweetling, that is so kind of you! To give Bear to Queen Lucy, oh that is just the dearest thing I have ever heard you do." An almost girlish twitter came out of Prunaprismia's mouth, surprising Caspian further, "Well one of the more adorable things."

Giving his aunt a one armed hug, Caspian shuddered, "Please, no tales of my childhood. And perhaps you could refrain from speaking of them with either of the Queens?"

"Oh why ever not?" another kiss pressed to his forehead before she withdrew finally, her silliness tucked aside. Women could be strange creatures, and found an obscure pleasure in regaling one another with tales of various men's childhoods. "I am sure that Queen Susan would love to hear about you telling Bear all about a certain pretty Queen you had a crush on as a boy."

Face going pale, "Aunt no! And how in the, how… did you? When.. when?" sputtering.

Another laugh, head thrown back in her mirth, "Oh sweetling, you are so precious!" Watching as she picked up one of the teacakes he had little time to react before she pushed it at his mouth, "When you were little, I worried over you so much. So little, so serious," sitting once more, and Caspian munched the cake somewhere between peeved, tired, and curious, "and I would go to check on you." She reached out, running her hand through his hair, and Caspian tried not to flinch – he always hated it when people did that, even when it was Lady Prunaprismia. His aunt hid the hurt quickly, and continued, "At hours a little boy should be asleep, you were usually awake, laying in that too large bed, whispering to your teddy-bear. Sometimes I thought you must be truly asleep, for so much of what you said made little to no sense. But on and on your piping voice would mutter, until it would drift in and out, in and out, until nothing but the sound of your soft breathing would fill the room."

Looking at her wide-eyed, "How often did you keep your vigil?"

"Often enough," going back to her embroidery, "and often enough to know that your small head was so full, full to bursting. As you got older I visited less often, but even then you would whisper, your arms wrapped tight about Bear. Truly sweetling, I know you wish to be good to Queen Lucy, but you are in sore need of your confidant as you will take no new one."

Finally, Caspian disabused her of Bear's locale, "The Gentle Queen is in possession of Bear at the moment and has been for some time."

Understanding lit his aunt's face, "Ah."

Frowning, "What?"

"Did she come upon you while you ranted?"

Turning so his back was to her, Caspian crossed his arms, "I do not rant."

"Yes you do," chuckling, "and I suppose she must have for you to react like that."

"She did no such thing," wriggling uncomfortably.

"Silly boy, go find your Queen and all will be well."

Caspian wondered if that was a slip in her speech or not, but said nothing in reply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FOUND MY EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE! Rejoice! Finally this can now be considered complete. It's about bloody time.

Plucking up his courage – he had faced down hordes of soldiers intent on killing him, and a truly huge group of angry Narnians set on the same task, and he’d also been under the White Witch’s evil gaze, so he was far from being a coward, he had plenty of courage – Caspian had made himself somewhat more presentable. Of course it wasn’t to buy time, no, not at all, why would he be afraid of the Gentle Queen? Except for the fact that there was something terrifying about the petite young woman, even when she was unarmed. No one else ever seemed to notice how daunting her presence was, just Caspian. He supposed it was just further proof of the fact that most people were blind, deaf, and dumb, which was why they needed rulers, because otherwise, who knew what sort of accidents they’d get into? (Really, being a monarch was a lot like being a parent, or what Caspian supposed being a parent was like...)

Grumbling, “I suppose Peter might be wrong. I must be truly observant to notice such a thing. Besides, there is no way he is always right. High King my ass,” forgetting himself, Caspian spoke aloud. Without an audience thankfully.

Eyeing the door to Queen Susan’s chambers, Caspian wondered if this was really such a good idea. A man entering into a woman’s private places when he was no relation wasn’t exactly the most seemly of things. Yet there he was, ready to do so. All because he wanted his teddy-bear back. How daft was that? Maybe he should just ask his aunt to speak with Susan, that sounded almost less obtuse than his current plan of action, but only just. Besides, he was already here, and sounding a retreat of any sort was most likely not going to gain him a damned thing. And that just wouldn’t do. Caspian would just have to seize the day, somehow.

“Caspian?” the voice behind him made him jump, and he spun about, pressing his back to the door. “Are you lost?”

Susan’s nose was scrunched and she was smiling up at him, her approach had been so quiet that he hadn’t heard her. Not even over the sound of her dress, the fabric didn’t swish the way so many of the ladies dresses did, its movements were whisper soft. It looked to be Calormene silk, a rare thing and he dreaded to think how the coffers must fare if the lovely Queen were dressing like that. But he couldn’t really think quite straight, because the fabric wasn’t the only thing that was Calormene about the dress. Bare shoulders and an almost scandalously low neck showed off a goodly amount of Queen Susan’s skin. And as she moved nearer, Caspian couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d caught sight of her shoulder blades. Feeling faint and his knees weak, Caspian gulped, shrinking against the door after having carefully peered so that he could catch sight of the back to be sure – even the back of the dress was tremendously low! To the point of being nigh nonexistent! 

“My Queen,” his suddenly parched mouth made Caspian croak. Clearing his throat raggedly, “My Queen, of course I am not lost.”

He almost berated himself for his stupidity – what an idiotic thing to say! Of course he wasn’t lost! It wasn’t like he hadn’t grown up in this castle for almost his entire life, he’d only been away from it for a few months for the war. A lifetime spent in these halls, and Caspian knew them so well, he even knew the servants’ routes and quite a few that weren’t on maps, too! By his forefathers, Caspian even knew secret routes that had languished forgotten for so long that he had been the first to walk the cobwebbed and dusty cubbies in likely centuries! How many games of hide and seek had he played here, and on the rare occasions he’d become lost, Caspian never asked for assistance, forcing him to find his own way back to halls he knew well. So, of course he wasn’t lost. 

At least not in the physical sense.

Metaphorically – he was up the proverbial creek with no paddle. 

“Well I suppose not,” she was smiling up at him, standing close enough for him to catch the scent of her honeysuckle perfume, “you grew up here after all. But then again,” smile widening, “you are standing at my door as though it were the entrance to the dungeons.” 

Caspian did his best to keep his eyes strictly above Susan’s chin, but with that much gloriously pale skin open to the air, he found it quite hard. Amongst other things, and Caspian was grateful for the tunic he wore, hopefully it would hide any physical indiscretions he might be sporting. Actually there was no ‘might’ about it, unless one were speaking of how mighty it was or how mightily it hurt, forcing Caspian to turn his thoughts to painful things. Like being kicked by a horse in his most tender parts. Wincing momentarily, Caspian was able to keep a better grip on himself.

“Are you quite sure you are well Caspian? You don’t look so good,” a small hand went to his wrist, grasping his arm tightly as Susan moved nearer still as she looked up into Caspian’s face, the very essence of concern.

Actually he was just fine until she pressed so close, and Caspian came near to whimpering as he tried to maintain a grip on his rebellious body. He was just there to get Bear back dammit, not to ogle the Gentle Queen’s very round, very pale, very soft, very bountiful feminine curves. Even if they were out for all to see, it didn’t mean he could simply stand there and stare. Which is what his eyes were trying very hard to do at the moment…. And succeeding. 

Licking his lips, “I am just a tad stiff, my Queen.”

“Oh then you should come in and have a seat until that stiffness wears off,” closer yet, if it were even possible, which apparently it was, Susan pressed until her body was up against his, one arm snaking past him and the support of the door left Caspian’s back.

The move was unexpected, and Caspian stumbled gracelessly backwards several steps. Into the Gentle Queen’s private rooms. Which was just utterly unseemly and inappropriate. Especially since she shut the door after she entered as well with finality. They were unchaperoned, and he was quite far from being a relative of Queen Susan, and Caspian knew how offensive this was, even by Telmarine standards. Queen Susan had enough clout and power to decide that her honour was besmirched and wouldn’t even have to complain to a brother of such happenings to seek reparations and punishments. Looking for an escape, what would the High King do to him for such reprehensible actions if he found out? Forget High King Peter, his mind frantically shouted, what would King Edmund do to him?!

Swallowing thickly, “My Queen, perhaps I should take my rest somewhere else?”

“Oh?” turning those large bright blue eyes on him, her hands clasped delicately together, looking so very innocent. 

The motion pushed her bosom up higher in her dress, and Caspian couldn’t be entirely sure but he thought he spied the very outermost flash of nipple. Innocent indeed. Catching Susan’s eye, Caspian was suddenly quite certain that he was purposely being tortured. There was something wicked and knowing in those sky filled eyes, just a little glitter of it, but Caspian still fought against his obvious fate.

Gathering the shreds of his meager dignity, “My Queen, I dislike making requests,” somehow maintaining a steady hold on her gaze, “that may sound like demands, so please forgive me.”

Susan leaned forward, seeming to hang on his words, standing quite firmly between him and the door. And all routes of escape. “Of course, but why don’t you go on and have a seat Caspian? Make yourself comfortable.”

He didn’t dare follow her suggestion, but Caspian knew it would be impolitic to not do so as well. With a sigh, he glanced around quickly, searching for a viable chair. All but the settee were occupied by incomprehensible feminine things. Sure that if he took a closer look that he’d be more than able to identify the piles of fabrics for what they were as he wasn’t inexperienced in such matters, Caspian was careful to turn a blind eye. 

He most certainly didn’t need images of Queen Susan’s underthings in his mind’s reaches, it was bad enough in there as it was.

At least not while he was in the possessor of said undergarments company.

“My Queen,” studiously staring at his feet after he sat, because right after him came Susan, sitting so close and leaning so that if he were to move at all he would be touching her or looking at her in a most inappropriate manner, “I have come to reclaim my…my..” 

Words failed him when Susan’s hand came to rest lightly on his forearm, and now her chest was on his shoulder as she twisted so that she could catch sight of his face, “Is the floor more interesting than my face? Am I so unpleasing that you avoid me so much? Have I done something to anger you, you’ve not spoken to me in days…”

Licking his lips Caspian steeled himself, “My Queen,” turning his earnest gaze on her, and doing his best to put forth all of his heartfelt feelings into the statement, “I do not believe it to be possible that you could ever anger me. And you are so much more than pleasing to me, that I…” That he what? That he was terrified of her being sent away? Caspian couldn’t say that to Susan. Carrying on, “That I relish all time spent with you.”

“Oh.” That seemed to bring a lightening to the Gentle Queen’s bearing as she, and the only word Caspian could come up with was ‘snuggled’, up even closer to Caspian, “About your request, what was it about, do get to the point.”

Not daring to tell her that that was what he’d been trying to do, “Bear, I would like Bear back please.”

“Bear? But I’ve grown ever so fond of him.” Clutching at Caspian’s arm, “He’s very wonderful. I sleep with him all nestled up next to me at night, and I feel so incredibly safe with him there…”

Somehow Caspian kept himself from falling over into a heap – if only he could trade places with Bear! Truly, the Gentle Queen had run off with his best friend! Oh how he wanted to yell at Bear for this betrayal, stealing away his – his what? Well Queen Susan certainly wasn’t his woman, that was a lowly and possessive way to think of so lovely a lady. Even if that was very much how he was feeling at the moment. 

“Truly my Queen, I would not dare to take him from you if I did not -” doing his best to banish thoughts of Susan’s scent having invaded the worn out toy’s body, or of her tenderly keeping it close to her as she slept, oh how lucky Bear was… “- did not truly require him back.” Taking her hand in both of his, Caspian moved so he was kneeling at her feet, “I know that it is a simple toy, but Bear has been my friend my whole life, and that may not mean much to you who has had your siblings by your side… I am alone, my Queen, and I have little comforts. Please, I beg you, let me have Bear back.”

Her free hand went to his forehead, pushing his bangs aside, running her fingers through his hair, and Caspian fought hard to not flinch, “Oh Caspian, I wouldn’t keep him from you. I didn’t realize Bear was quite so important.” Fingernails scratched at his cheek lightly, along the underside of his jaw, making a soft susurration against the bit of stubble that grew throughout the day, “But Caspian, you have many comforts. We’re here, Aslan’s here, you’re not alone.”

Caspian wanted to cry out then, what of when Aslan sends you and your siblings away? But he refrained. Rather, Caspian nodded his acceptance, hoping that Susan wouldn’t force him to continue waiting, he was going mad in her intoxicating presence. His thoughts were becoming befuddled and random, and Caspian needed to talk so badly that if he weren’t careful he’d begin rambling to Susan until his head was empty. Which it never was of course.

“Of course, my Queen,” having to bite his tongue physically to keep more words from tumbling out.

Susan rose gracefully, leaving him still kneeling on the floor, moving to her bed. Curtains were tugged aside, and she partially disappeared having to climb half on the bed to reach her goal. Caspian let his head fall forward, until it was pressed into the cushions of the chaise lounge to keep his greedy eyes from watching how her posterior shook side to side as she wiggled. An unladylike swear caught his attention, and Caspian peeked up to see slippered feet waving in the air, and she must have had to climb all the way onto the very large bed to reach whatever her goal was. Fighting his ever present damnable inquisitiveness, Caspian made himself stay right where he was. 

Out the other side of the bed curtains Susan clambered, pushing her hair back into place, and tugging on the top of her dress, resituating it. The motion made her jiggle fetchingly, and Caspian forced himself look quickly away at that. Queen Susan wasn’t some common barmaid for him to eye up or some lady of lower nobility who was free for such liaisons! Heat had flooded his cheeks, and his ears, and damn his lady aunt for being right – the tip of his nose too – at having caught such a candid glimpse of Susan.

“Well!” Brushing and resettling her person, smiling widely at the prize held tucked under one arm, “There you are Bear! And aren’t you looking handsome today?”

Before Caspian could move to rise, Susan was digging through the multitude of frilly things, tossing them this way and that, while Bear was still held tight to her breast. 

Clearing his throat, “My Queen, perhaps I should leave – I ah…” Something silky and short landed on his head, and a sweeter floral fragrance mixed with musk filled his nose before it was yanked from his face.

“Oops! Sorry Caspian!” Susan was bent over his still kneeling form, “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m just looking for something,” glancing over her shoulder, but in the perfect position (as well as near enough) for Caspian to see straight down her dress to her corset. Dim valleys and dips pulled at his eyes, “You’ll have to excuse the mess, and oh, here can you hold this?” shoving another of the silken garments into his hands rather than Bear.

Reminding himself over and over and over again that Bear was all he was there for, Caspian did his best to not take note of how cool and slippery the light fabric in his hands was. But it was impossible. And Susan’s back was turned. Examining it surreptitiously, he rubbed it between his calloused fingertips, and it released more light perfume. It was almost sugary sweet with a heady sea salt undercurrent, and Caspian wracked his brain in an attempt to identify what it could be. At a loss, Caspian folded the underthing neatly, thinking to put it aside, but it did make such a small package, and Queen Susan’s back was still turned as she rooted about… Cursing himself for an evil letch, Caspian tucked the small thing into his belt-pouch. 

It was unlikely she’d ever notice it was missing… 

“Now where did that box go?” she asked rhetorically, turning around, breathless, her elegantly waved hair flying about her shoulders. Susan raised Bear up to look him in the face, “Bear, did you see where I put my box?” Cocking her head to the side, she sighed, “Well yes of course I checked by the bed, and yes of course I looked under the pile of clothing. We can’t have too much dawdling here, for Caspian is in sore need of you.” Giving the toy a squeeze, Susan plopped a kiss up on its head, making Caspian fight to not get jealous, “Oh! I know! I didn’t check under the settee!”

Caspian narrowly managed to scoot aside before Queen Susan bustled over to the small sedan, setting Bear down next to her, “My Queen, please you need not make yourself so flustered. Bear is just fine as he is… I am merely grateful to have him returned to me…” 

He reached for Bear, making as though to rise from his position on the floor, but Susan smacked the back of his hand lightly, “Nonsense! I want to finish sprucing him up!” Huffing as she bent over, lifting her skirts so that she could look between her legs to see underneath the small couch, “Now where did that box get to?”

Caspian made a garbled noise, and somehow refrained from offering to help her find whatever box it was she was looking for. He knew which one _he’d_ be looking for if allowed even the merest opportunity. And it probably wasn’t the one she was looking for at all. Even the admonishment his brain was trying to shout at him could do nothing to curb the rest of Caspian’s brain much at all – even the threat of High King Peter seemed to do nothing at all to keep Caspian from at least taking a little peak at Queen Susan’s calves, the tops of her shoulders and the length of her mostly bare back – that dress revealed a lot as she bent in half. Sadly the memory of King Edmund on the other hand was very effective, causing Caspian to jerk his eyes to the side as well as his face, to keep his greedy gaze from such naughty treasures as the sight of Susan like that. If his brain was fully functioning, Caspian could have come up with something to say to extricate himself from the entire situation, and maybe possibly even manage to take Bear with him. But his brain wasn’t functioning much at all, as all the blood it normally ran on wasn’t between his ears, but between his legs.

“My Queen,” starting off somewhat desperately, Caspian tried to save himself with his last shreds of self control, “I must simply beg your leave –“

“Ah, there you are! Gotcha!” triumphant, Susan yanked out a large red velvet covered box, and truly at any other time Caspian would wonder how in the names of his forefathers she had managed to overlook something so large, as she settled it into her lap. “Now,” opening it, absentmindedly readjusting the top of her dress one-handed to keep from spilling out of it entirely – those Calormene bodice styles were just this side of tasteless sometimes, but Queen Susan managed to wear it with feminine grace, good humour, and lots of glowing, “Bear needs a last little touch….” 

Keeping a white knuckled grip on his kneecaps, Caspian thanked the souls of the dearly departed who had come before him – he was about to be free of this madness! “Thank you my Queen,” hoping it didn’t come out too fervent.

She smiled at him, beamed more like, so sunnily bright it dazzled Caspian momentarily, “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Blue, light blue,” answering without thinking.

He’d long forgotten why it was his favourite colour, but it always made him feel safe. Susan dug in the box for a moment more, then drew out a thick ribbon. Caspian wasn’t sure what she intended to do with it, but it didn’t seem like it was a bad thing. Twisting, Susan kept her knees pressed tightly together to prevent the box from falling over as her hands were busy fussing over Bear. 

Seemingly satisfied, Susan presented Caspian with Bear, “Now isn’t he particularly handsome?”

“Ah,” the ribbon was tied expertly around Bear’s neck, his once dingy fur cleaned to nearly new brightness, and in some of the truly worn spots, fresh mohair patches had been placed. It all gave Bear a slightly patchwork look, but the worn glass eyes were still the same shade of black-brown, gazing at him warmly. “Ah…” But the ribbon, that was just a tad much in his book. 

“What is it?” Susan looked at him quizzically, her happy smile starting to slip off her face.

Seeking to reassure her, “Bear looks wonderful, everything is all in order, but the ribbon…? It…does not seem…particularly manly.”

“Really?” Cocking her head from one side to the other, examining Bear closely as she twisted him this way and that. “But I thought he’d like to keep a little piece of me with him. Hmph.”

“A piece of you my Queen?” baffled.

“Why yes, this,” wiggling her knees back and forth making the box jingle softly, “is my box of hair things. Some ribbons, some hair picks and pins, combs, and the like. Much of it seemed to survive the centuries in Cair Paravel, frankly I don’t know how, but why question it?”

Blinking rapidly, Caspian’s mouth didn’t check with his head, “Well then that would be fine I do suppose. But perhaps something a tad…more…masculine in colour?”

“Would Bear like a different ribbon?” lips curling upwards as she rubbed her nose to the dark chocolate felt one of Bear’s. “Then now let’s see,” sitting Bear back down next to her, Susan poked about in her red velvet box for a few minutes longer. “I like this one,” presenting a deep emerald ribbon that had silver clasps hooked to the tail ends of it. 

“That would be more than perfect,” shaking his head Caspian tried to deny the gift, “but it is far too much my Queen.” 

“Well it’s mine to give is it not?” archly. Of course Caspian nodded, and she continued on, leaning towards him, “Then it’s the ribbon for Bear. No if’s, and’s or but’s about it.”

The move was unexpected, even amongst an encounter of unexpected things, and Susan was gathering his hair into a short tail, to tie it up with the ribbon. Leaning away, Susan mucked with his locks, and Caspian found himself not minding so much her touch. Gentle hands moved through his bangs, fluffing them this way and that, and then to the back of his head, combing at the very short, very unmanly tail that stuck out from the back of his neck. There was simply no way in any holy name that Caspian would ever complain about it however. He’d wear whatever Queen Susan put on him that belonged to her, just for the simple pleasure of having something of hers near him at all times. 

“My Queen,” he began, seeking to distract himself from their awkward position, “I had another question I thought perhaps I should put to you.”

“Oh?” her arms were almost around his shoulders, and she was leaning so close, Caspian felt some of Susan’s hair fall over his face, flooding his world with the scent of honey and flowers. “And what would that be?” fingers lingering on the back of his neck, and Caspian muddled out the thought that he probably didn’t have that much hair back there for her to mess with. 

He just wasn’t going to complain over it. At all. In any way shape or form. Caspian would cut off his right arm, his left testicle and probably do something else utterly unspeakable before he complained about Susan, her proximity, and her touch on him at the moment. Let alone ever.

Turning his face enough to torture himself further, Caspian allowed his cheek to come close to Susan’s neck as he gathered the courage to make his case, “Would it be permissible for me to ask if you had an escort for the Ball?”

“Well of course it’s permissible,” sitting up so that she could take a good look at her handiwork. 

“Then, ah,” fumbling, “would you do me the honour my Queen of allowing me to escort you to the Ball?”

Again, Susan leaned over, this time shaking her head with a frown, “Oh I don’t like it like that, no that doesn’t suit at all, just won’t do,” and Caspian felt Susan tugging his hair from the ponytail. 

Seeking to fix whatever it was he had done to displease her, “My Queen – “

“Oh, give me your wrist,” not answering him, Susan grabbed his arm, shoving his cuff up and wrapping the ribbon around it before tying it off. “Ah, now that, now that will most certainly do!”

Adjusting how he was seated, Caspian made himself more comfortable at Susan’s feet, her hands still holding onto his, “My Queen, about the Ball…”

“Caspian, just be quiet for a few minutes,” it wasn’t vibrant or irritated at all, just very soft, very gentle, and he caught sight of Susan’s expression. She was watching him quietly, very intently, like she was trying to memorize his face.

But why would she wish to memorize his features when she’d see them every...day… The reality crashed back on Caspian, and he simply stared at Susan, what could he do to make it so she could stay, so his Gentle Queen could stay and be so full of effervescent life? Edmund had said that sometimes Aslan just needed to be shown that you were ready for something for Him to allow it. That sometimes you had to ask for His help, but sometimes you had to help yourself, showing how much you had learned. 

…Surely Aslan wouldn’t force the Kings and Queens to leave if…if… His mind scrabbled for a reason that not even Aslan would wish to undo. Marriage? No, marriage could easily be sundered by leaving for another world! No, that wasn’t good enough. Gazing into Susan’s deep, clear blue eyes that were so beautiful, they reminded him of safety, and warmth, and love. Of security even in the darkest of nights. 

If Queen Susan was his wife, and even then she could be sent away, that meant a courtship would matter little as well. What was so sacred that Aslan wouldn’t ever harm or seek to sunder those bonds? Licking his lips, Caspian’s mind figured it out at the last moment – a child’s life was too precious to ever waste. 

“Susan, my Queen,” resolve firming suddenly now that he’d come to the necessary path, “please, you must forgive me.”

“Whatever for Caspian?” hand going to his hair, Susan’s fingers ran through it, the touch unexpectedly painfully soothing to Caspian.

Breathless Caspian leaned up, framing her legs with his hands braced on either side of them, “For my forwardness.”

“You can be as forward as you like Caspian – “ that was more than enough permission for Caspian, who picked up and put aside the box full of incomprehensible female hair goods, and then Susan must have caught sight of his very intent look. That is before her skirts were flipped up high, “Caspian! Those are my skirts!”

“That they are,” agreeing steadily, running his hands over her fair skin. Caspian hadn’t thought that anyone’s skin could be so translucent and soft. Nor that skin could be the colour of fresh cream. He wondered if Susan’s flesh tasted as rich and sweet?

Massaging a calf, Caspian let his fingers do some walking and talking up the inside of Susan’s legs, pressing them apart. Checking Queen Susan’s expression, he saw that so far she was blushing more than anything else, but there was no hint of anger or reprimand there, and so he continued. This was familiar and unfamiliar territory, it wasn’t like anyone would come and interrupt them… Frowning, Caspian looked over his shoulder, noting that the bolt was already in place. 

“Would that be the bolt being in place?” jerking his chin towards the door, holding Susan’s gaze with his own.

“That it would,” a hint of mischief was back in those glittering blue eyes, in those rosy cheeks.

So, he wouldn’t be interrupted at all, and that was all to the good. And it seemed that Queen Susan had had some sort of plan in place already. But, Caspian didn’t think that she had thought quite as far ahead as he was currently thinking. Which didn’t matter, she didn’t need to do any thinking for what he had planned at the moment. Hooking his fingers into the waist of her knee-length underpants before pulling them free of her legs he moved onto the next step.

“Caspian! Those are my knickers!” as the lightweight cotton went flying over his shoulder after he’d tossed them in that general direction.

Lips quirking, Caspian nodded his head minutely, “That they certainly were.”

Stroking the whole length of Susan’s legs, inside to outer, outer to inner, Caspian slipped his hands down to her feet, removing her slippers without a fuss as they hadn’t come off with the undergarments. 

She giggled when his thumbs dug into the arches of her feet, “Caspian – I’m ticklish there!” 

“That does appear to be true,” scooting so he could lay a kiss to one of her knees, maneuvering Susan around deftly so that there’d be no trouble at all in carrying out his plan. 

Making a very male sound of satisfaction, Caspian pulled one of Susan’s legs over his shoulder, opening her up so that he could trail his mouth from her knee to her inner thigh. She made a little peep of delight, squirming this way and that. It was always heartening how having a plan could quiet the tumult in his head, knowing his place and pace, having come to a decision...

Before he could make contact with his goal, fingers in his hair halted him where his open mouthed kiss was yet pressed to tender inner thigh, “Caspian, that is your mouth, and now while I’m quite enjoying this, that is most certainly not my mouth you’re about to kiss.”

Pausing, brow furrowing, Caspian leaned back far enough to catch sight of Susan’s only slightly cross frown, “My Queen? I – “

“Well now, I certainly won’t mind you being so forward,” interrupting him, and cupping his chin, long nails scraping softly over his short stubble, “but I do prefer a bit of kissing and such before allowing anyone to progress past a certain point.” Caspian’s eyes crossed when she tapped the end of his nose, continuing, forcing him to hold his position, “And you, my King, have now entered the stage where I’d like some kissing before I’ll allow you any further.”

Clearing his throat, “I was planning on doing some kissing –“ flushing, Caspian gestured vaguely by running his hand along the top of her leg that was slung over his shoulder.

“I’m sure you were, but I don’t think that that qualifies as the sort of kissing that I had in mind, now does it?” The way she sounded, Caspian was fairly certain she was only teasing, but she sounded so arch, and prim… And how in the name of Aslan did she manage to sound prim whilst her skirts were half up to her chin, legs spread, one over his shoulder, the other draped on the armrest of the settee? “So, if you please, make with the kissing of my face before getting to the kissing of my place.”

The sentiments were raunchy, but stated so elegantly that it was impossible to find fault with the statement – even so Caspian found himself turning multiple shades, and if he had thought the burning of his ears was bad earlier… Well now he was sure steam must be coming off of him he was so embarrassed. Here he had thought he was king, gentleman, intellectual, and experienced in all things – yet the Queen before him was putting him soundly in his place, reminding him that he wasn’t the only one with knowledge of this arena. 

Attempting to recover, Caspian rose on his knees, moving to remedy the situation, prepared to shower Susan with as much kissing as she could possibly desire, “My Queen, please accept my apologies –“

Again interrupting, “Oh do hurry up, less talking, more kissing and touching please. I’ve been waiting on this for far too long for you to keep,” Caspian found himself thrown off balance as Susan pushed him back to the ground, scooting off the small couch to straddle him, “oomph! wasting time!”

The floor should feel hard he supposed beneath his back, but Caspian believed he could be forgiven not truly noticing it. He was quite distracted by his armful of Susan and the fact that she was spilling from her dress entirely. Hands tangled in his hair yet again, and Caspian willingly tilted his head with that minimal urging before plump lips covered his. Moaning, Caspian let his hands travel from the heap of silk that comprised Susan’s skirts, roving and exploring, wishing nothing more than to pull her as close to him as possible. Tongue sliding into his mouth, and Caspian could taste melon, he could hear his heart pounding and the rustlings of fabric and Susan’s soft sighs. 

His tunic suddenly felt looser and there was a soft clink from the hilts of his sword and dagger clattering despite the muffling effect of thick rugs, which meant that Caspian found his belt had been undone. Without him having noticed. Heart thundering the fire consumed his body, and Caspian knew he was going too fast, faster than he had intended at least, or actually he wasn’t quite sure. Nature was taking over, leaving him utterly befuddled. Someone’s hands were on his shoulders, then on his stomach, but Caspian only distantly had any awareness of that, his own fingers were quite busy unfastening the stays that held Susan’s dress together. Arching when hips ground down on his, Caspian gasped, leaning up not allowing Susan to escape from the kiss they’d been sharing since she threw him down. However long ago that had happened, Caspian really didn’t care one teeny tiny bit. 

Shoulders thudding along with his head as Susan pushed firmly on his shoulders, forcing Caspian to break away, and Caspian panted for air. Over him, Susan’s tresses were loose, wild and in as much disarray as her dress that half hung from her chest, one side of her skirts hiked up showing off generous amounts of leg. She was breathless, face flushed, chest heaving, flashing him a glimpse of nipple on every deep inhale. Thickly swallowing, Caspian attempted to catch his own breath, remembering that air was good and that he’d need as much of it as he could get. Because he had a plan – now if only he could remember what that plan was, everything would be great. At least he was sure he had a plan, and that it was a very good one at that…

“Clothes – we should, need, um…” distracting him from his line of thought, tossing her head, Susan tugged at the top of her dress. 

Her weight felt wonderful, and Caspian didn’t really mean to do it, but couldn’t stop himself. Grasping her hips, Caspian agreed, nodding, while he ground upwards. Heat radiated from Susan’s core, even through his tunic and leggings, and he himself was feeling entirely too hot, and yet he wanted to get even closer to Susan’s fire. Nails bit through the linen of his tunic and Susan whimpered as Caspian rocked against her. Thighs flexed around his hips, clamping punishingly as Susan swayed for several long moments, this time making Caspian frantic with the strength of his own desire under the force of Susan’s rejoinder. 

“My Queen!” coming out a sharp hiss, Caspian ignored Susan’s growl when he sat up, gathering her closer, even as legs tightened so much around his waist that she almost cut off his air. 

Caspian collected some of his wits at least, focusing on sucking on a nipple while he did his best to finish undressing Susan. It was a lucky thing that the petticoats to the dress were built in, making it easier for Caspian to divest Susan of her clothing. They of course wound up heaped, joining the mass of clothes already festooning Susan’s quarters. His own outfit was another matter entirely, because it was still on him, and that was as undesirable as anything could be at the moment. Teeth were diverting his already quite wayward thoughts, as they grazed from the spot behind his ear down the side of his neck, to his Adam’s apple, the pressure of Susan’s tongue leaving him dizzy. Once again forgetting whatever it was he meant to do, Caspian instead let his head fall back on his neck, groans torn from his throat, sitting on his heels, supporting Susan in only the most trivial ways. 

Limbs heavy and moving as though he were in thick syrup, Caspian touched Susan all over, grasping and pulling, mouth following quickly after his hands. To the small of her back, Caspian nuzzled and kissed, the two of them having twisted on the floor, leaving him that opportunity. Another flip, and Susan was on her back and Caspian’s mouth was then on her collarbone. Tuggings at him made Caspian frown – he didn’t want to stop what he was doing, the worship of Susan’s body and skin more meaningful than anything else. Except the fact that he was just so hot, that was the only other important thing in his world, and he’d really rather not be so overheated. Susan’s wishes were made known, the words not quite making sense in his dulled brain, but Caspian followed suit keeping his gaze locked with hers, yanking his tunic over his head. Cool air hit his flesh, and then something else, something hot and wet that left trails of fire and ice. Forgetting what it was he meant to do yet again, Caspian fell backwards, taking Susan with him, reveling in the sensation of full breasts mashing to his now bare chest. 

Everything was tingling under the onslaught of Susan’s lips, one moment they were on his cheeks, the next his navel, then his shoulders. Sensations and images were flashing by too fast for him to comprehend, but the first and foremost that would stick with him for all eternity was Susan stretching out over him, her arm pinned between them as her hand snaked below the waist of his leggings, the serenity of her features when her fingers found their goal. Thrusting up against her palm, Caspian knew words were coming out of his mouth but he hadn’t the foggiest idea of what those words could be. Perhaps they were pleas or reverent poetry – then more cool air hit his body, this time on his thighs. 

Letting out an agitated sound, Caspian’s hands flailed, grasping, reaching for Susan who had scooted down his legs, to pull at his boots. He didn’t give a damn if his leggings wouldn’t come off because of the blasted leather – Caspian only wanted Susan. Right. Now. Licking his lips, Caspian tasted the salt of perspiration forming there, and his cock wasn’t the only thing that was tight and sensitive. Stomach muscles clenched, senses engulfed in a blaze, each puff of air driving him to further madness. Yet he didn’t have the strength to fight, to make his needs known to Susan. Caspian needed to touch Susan, to feel her, not to watch as she jerked at the remainders of his garments. Victorious crowing, and Susan shook the black leather, throwing it with force somewhere. 

A whine was ripped from Caspian when Susan didn’t just crawl back up his body, but dragged every inch of her person over him. From his ankles up, Caspian felt creamy skin pressing close, as close as could be, Susan’s mouth paving the path. And then liquid heat was over his prick, that throbbing, painfully aching and hungry piece of his anatomy. It was only a tease, because Susan swirled the pink of her tongue over him only a second before moving onwards, kissing at his hips. Sobbing for breath, struggling, Caspian moved his weak limbs drawing at Susan, begging in a jumble. 

Silence crashed down, everything stopped, and ice tore through his veins as heat slipped down his manhood. Susan’s palms were on his cheeks, but there was no sound in his ears. None. And then a pathetic, hoarse shout echoed. Reeling, Caspian grappled with Susan, their bodies fighting for dominance as they locked into as tight of an embrace as two bodies could make. His hips thrust against hers, her hands pushed and pulled him, then Caspian would find himself on his back again. Flipped over, and Susan would ride him, the clasping of muscles rippling up and down his length, teeth going to worry at one of his nipples. In retaliation, Caspian would lift Susan by her hips, then slam her down on his cock, as he bucked, before rolling so that she was on her back.

For a single perfect instant the world stopped. All he could see was Susan, beneath him, her back was arched, chin in the air as the back of her head pressed to the floor, eyes scrunched shut as she made the softest mewling. The flush over her cheeks, the one on her breasts, her gorgeous sable hair a snarled mess, looking like agony and yet Caspian well knew it was ecstasy. And then Caspian collapsed, unable to make anything pass through his strangled vocal cords. 

Drifting in relaxation, Caspian remembered what his plan was, and that really he should tell Susan about it. But that required talking, and talking required thinking, and action. Action – well that required some energy. Which he had absolutely none of. In a few minutes, Caspian knew he’d be ready to go again, and that was a good thing. If he wished to get Susan with child, then the more times he plowed her furrow, the greater the likelihood that she would become pregnant. In turn, that meant that Aslan wouldn’t send her away, and if He didn’t send Susan away, it was probable that the other Pevensies could stay as well.


End file.
